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CONFEDERATE 
MEMORIAL VERSES 



BEVERLEY D.TUCKER 



PS 3539 

.U25 C6 
1904 
Copy 1 




CoiNTFEDERATE MEMORIAL VeRSES 



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BEVERLEY DAJSTDRIDGE TUCKER 

Chaplain Pickett -Btichanan Camp C. "V. 



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Ptjblishbd by The r»icKETT - Buchanan Ohapter 

United Daughters of the Confederacy 

Norfolk, Virginia. 



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Dedication 



A.. M. W. T. 



I would have my children proud not because their father, as a boy, wore tht 

grey and did his lowly part, But I would have them proud of the fact that 

their mother, whilst yet a little maiden, daughter of a knightly soldier 

who rode by the side of Robert Lee and gave to the South as 

a free libation the blood he shared with "the Father of his 

Country," cheered the troopers who followed the plume 

of Ashby, and waved her little hand to greet the 

cannoneers of Pelham, and stood at the gate 

of her home and gave food and drink to 

the foot cavalry of Stonewall Jackson, 

as the tide of battle ebbed and 

flowed through the beautiful 

Valley of the Shenandoah. 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



Salutamus, O Leader, long lost 

And passed from our vision and ken, 

Tho' thine arms on thy bosom be crossed. 
We call us thy men. 

And we list for the word of command 

That leaped from the lips that are mute. 
Tho' it come not, yet loyal, we stand 



And give thee salute! 



Thou art passed. Commander, where ne'er 
Is heed of the praise and the blame. 

Yet resistless outrings the loud cheer 
At sound of thy name. 

Ah ! the face and the form we knew well 
Are lost in the chasm of years, 

But our love has a power to dispel 
The mist of our tears. 

And thy glory shall lighten through time 

The vistas of duty — and then 
We shall know that our hero sublime 

Still leadeth his men ! 



LET US BUILD THE MONUMENT. 



Norfolk Memorial Day, 1892. 



I. 

HAMPTON ROADS. 



T'was the calm of the day 

And the enemy lay 
Unheeding, at anchor in Hampton Bay ; 

When a flag- was unfurled 

And a cannon shot hurled 
Which echoed until it startled the world ! 

Ah ! the}' recked not the grave 

Nor the threat'ning wave 
Whose hearts were dauntless and valiant and brave, 

As was Nelson's of old ! 

But, intrepid and bold, 
They fought as men fight who fight not for gold ! 

And the foe bowed before 

The proud banner they bore 
As they sailed to many an alien shore — 

But the sea sings to rest 

Now the bravest and best, 
As mothers the babes asleep on their breast. 

Then build to the name and the fame of these 

A column lofty and grand! 
They gave to the breeze in the farthest seas 

The new-born flag of their land — 
For none were truer nor nobler than they 
Whose hearts beat high neath their jackets of grey ! 



o'V^ 



II. 

GETTYSBURG. 



A hill's embattled crest 
Which Titans could not wrest, 

And yet they charge with strange heroic zest — 
And all around them fall 
The showers of shell and ball, 

Yet still the Southern cross waves thro' it all ! 

Ah me ! Ah me ! the slain ! 

Borne down — as beats the rain 
The roses in the mire and in the stain ! 

Yet Pickett and his men 

Charge on and charge as when 
The wave breaks on the rock, yet breaks again. 

It was in vain ? Ah well ! 

The world will stop to tell, 
This is the spot where knightly Armistead fell, 

And this the sacred field 

Where heroes would not yield 
But fell each one upon his stainless shield ! 

Then rear to them here whose glory is dear 

A shaft to leil ox their deed 
Ere fame disappear with the fleeting year 

Or memory's wave recede ! 
Ah carve it with care in midst of the fray 
They quailed not nor cringed these heroes in grey 



III. 

C/ \ APPOMATTOX. 



On Appomattox field 

A worn-out remnant yield, 
A nation's fate is there forever sealed, 

A sacred flag is furled 

And a last shot is hurled 
Which echoes 'till it saddens all the world. 

Did Sparta blush for shame 

At Thermopylae's name 
Or bury with her dead their meed of fame! 

Did England ere forget 

How the Norman foe was met 
Tho' Harold's sun in cloud and shadow set! 

The might, at last, prevailed, 

The Southern legions failed, 
Yet the glory which was theirs has not paled ; 

The years may swiftly flee, 

The proudest boast shall be 
"We failed, but failed with Jackson and with Lee," 

Then raise to their praise, whilst memory stays, 
A shaft which ever shall stand 

To tell of the days when men stopped to gaze 
At those who fought for the land. 

For none were truer nor nobler than they 

Who sleep, as they fell, in their jackets of grey! 



IN MEMORY OF THE MEN WHOSE CAUSE IS DEAD 
BUT WHOSE DEEDS LIVE ON! 



Vincti Sed Victorea. 



From hearts of men, from off the country's face, 
Whose beauty once the stains of blood did mar. 
Long- years of peace have labored to efface 
The cruel tracks and vestiges of war. 

Each spring has brought it's tender wealth of green 
To hide the gory battlements of earth, 
'Till now the barren mounds — that once had been 
The place of death — to flowers and grass give birth. 

The dusty plains once trampled by the feet 
Of angry hosts, whose battle shout was heard 
Above the cannon's din, are fields of wheat. 
Or meadows where we list the song of bird. 

On ships that sail the seas, in churches' aisles, 
In busy marts, in country and in town. 
They meet and greet, with kindly words and smiles, 
Who once in battle faced, with warlike frown. 

To God be praise ! for Passion yields her sway, 
And cloud no longer veils the sky above, 
As storm to calm, and night to day gives way. 
So war gives place to peace, and hate to love ! 

Gone is the bitterness that once we knew, 
Tho' still the woe is traced in many eyes — 
Gone are the dreams of yore, and ended, too, 
The old heroic life of sacrifice ! 



Gone, like a meteor thro' the cloudless skies, 
The hopes with which we sought the stubborn fray ; 
Gone, like the music when the singer dies, 
The fancies which beguiled us for a day ! 

Gone, like a harvest swept by cruel hail — 
The hard won fruits of each victorious fight — 
Aye! country, flag and cause; gone, like a sail 
That dots the seas, and passes out of sight! 

Is this, then, all that's left, these many graves 
Which far and wide, are found in mount and plain. 
In valleys fair, and where the ocean waves 
Sing requiem, do these alone remain? 

Nay, surely, nay, but like as Samson drew 

The honey from the lion he had slain, 

So, from our lion, war, we, comrades, too. 

May draw the strong and sweet — ah ! not in vain ! 

'Twas not in vain that these undying men 
With Lee and Jackson charged thro' storms of lead ; 
A page they wrote, with sword more strong than pen, 
Which long shall teach in duty's path to tread ! 

'Twas not in vain that these, in camp and field, 
And women brave as they, 'mid dark'ning skies. 
Endured and suffered, would not cringe, nor yield. 
But gave their all, and taught of sacrifice! 

More fair these fruits we gather from defeat 
Than some which grow on Vict'rys highest tree, 
That duty's self, that sacrifice is sweet — 
Ah ! this to learn, is more than victory ! 

This much is left of all our fateful strife 
These names that shine in Honor's glorious sky, 
These dead to teach us how to live our life. 
Or show us how, if duty call, to die ! 

And now, because they dying left this gift 
Of names untarnished and of mem'ries bright. 
Whose glory made in leaden skies a rift, 
And bathes fore'er our Southern land in light. 

Because they gave us all they could, we bring 
This tribute wrought of flow'rs, of verse, of tears, 
And vow to keep from dark Oblivion's wing 
Their names and deeds, thro' all the changing years. 



THE DAYS WHEN WE FOLLOWED ROBERT LEE. 

Pickett-Euclianan Camp, Januarv lUtli. 



By the old familiar light 

Of the camp-fire burning bright 

Let us gather here to-night — 

Tell the tale, sing the well-remembered glee. 

Stir the embers fading fast, 

See the visions of the past 

Hear again the bugle blast 

As in days when we followed Robert Lee. 

There is snow upon our hair. 

And the furrowed marks of care 

How they tell the wear and tear 

Of the years that have sped — but let it be ! 

We are boys, to-day, once more, 

And we're comrades, as of yore, 

When this flag we proudly bore 

In the davs when we followed Robert Lee! 



"Rag of treason," men may call 

This old banner — but to all 

Who once loved it 'tis the pall 

Of our dear Southern cause — and shall be, 

As a sacred lock we save, 

As a flower from Mother's grave — 

Dear, as when we saw it wave. 

In the days when we followed Robert Lee! 

For still our bosoms swell 
At the old Confederate yell, 
And we love to sit and tell 
Of the years when we struggled to be free- 
Call us "rebels" — but the name 
It will bring no blush of shame 
'Twas the synomyn of fame 
In the days when we followed Robert Lee! 



There was laughter well as tears 

And the old Confederate hears, 

Across the waste of years, 

It's echo like the echo of the sea, 

And the old rheumatic pain 

Will be vexing him in vain, 

For it makes him young again 

As in days when we followed Robert Lee! 

For as oft we sit and gaze 

In the warm and cheerful blaze — 

Ah ! the tricks our fancy plays, 

The visions which our memories make us see! 

Once again the armies tramp 

Thro' the snow and rain and damp, 

Then the pleasures of the camp 

As in days when we followed Robert Lee ! 

Ah ! the stained old haversack 

With the bacon and hardtack 

And that whiflF of apple jack. 

And the coffee made of rye — they may be 

Not a dainty bill of fare — 

But it must have been the air, 

For they tasted mighty fair 

In the days when we followed Robert Lee. 

As the mem'ry dreams and whirls 

How it brings up all the girls 

With the dancing eye and curls 

And the laughter like the ripple of the sea ! 

O, the tender, sweet, farewell 

And the kiss remembered well — 

But 't would never do to tell 

How we loved when we followed Robert Lee. 

And the trumpet sounds once more 

As we fight our battles o'er — 

Midst the rattle and the roar 

How we charged in our struggles to be free ! 

Ah ! it was a glorious sight. 

For we struck with all our might. 

When we battled for the right 

In the days when we followed Robert Lee. 



Like the wind among the pines, 

As he rides on down the lines, 

Whilst every bayonet shines. 

Sounds the cheer when his noble form we see, 

Oh ! the world shall never know 

All our trust in weal and woe, 

In that grand old long- ago 

All our love, as we followed Robert Lee. 

But the vision will not stay, 

And the flag is furled away, 

For we fought and lost the day — 

Ah ! the forms which we never more shall see! 

But they counted not the cost 

'Twas a willing holocaust, 

And the glory was not lost 

In the davs when we followed Robert Lee ! 



COMPENSATION. 



In Commemoration of the Confederate Dead of th<^ 
University of Virginia. 



Was it waste when the sons, who were reared at thy side^ 

At the beat of the drum, did not falter nor pause, 

And by duty were drawn, as the waves by the tide 

Obedient to laws? 

Was it waste when they struggled, and suflfered and died 

For flag and for cause? 

Was it waste when they went from this Temple of Lore, 

In the prime of their youth, with its secrets unlearned. 

Like the guests of a banquet who vanish before 

The torches are burned? 

Was it waste that they left, ere the lesson was o'er, 

The pages unturned? 

Was it waste that they spent in the battle and strife 

All the gifts that were theirs and the treasures of youth? 

Was it waste that they bartered the joyance of life 

For travail and ruth? 

That they gave of their best, when the struggle was rife 

For honour and truth ? 

Was it waste when the ointment was poured on the feet 
Of the Christ, when the spices in linen were bound? 
Was it waste when He died as the grain of the wheat 
That's cast in the ground? 

Did the world think it waste, when, the harvest complete. 
Its glory was found? 

Was it waste when the Spartan returned on his shield? 

Was it waste when Leonidas guarded the way? 

Or when Harold lay dead with his knights on the field, 

At close of the day? 

Was it waste when a Winkelried, rather than yield. 

Was slain in the fray? 

Ah ! the world has its praise for the men who prevail, 
For the victors who triumph by wrong and by might, 
But the heart has its love for the vanquished who fail 
Yet battle for right ! 

And their names they will shine, when the conquerors' pale. 
Like stars in the night! 



For the laurels of triumph are lost like the wave, 

Like the foam of the billows that break on the shore, 

But the laurels of love men cherish and save 

Whilst truth shall endure, 

They shall garland the home, though the fallen and brave 

Have passed thro' the door! 

Was it waste? Nay thy sons but translated in deed 
All the truths of the books of the wisest and best. 
They were seekers of Honour, and chose but to heed 
Her royal behest, 

And the names of the dead are the pages we read 
To learn of the quest ! 



AGAIN ! 



Delivered in Norfolk on Memorial Day. Thursday, 
May 15th, 1902. 



Spring yet again her treasure trove discloses 

Her wealth of blossom, bud and bloom, 

Leaves on the trees and heavy clustered roses — 

And we forget the winter's gloom ! 

Life ev'rywhere, as sleeping Earth arouses 

To tender touch of sun and rain, 

Lillies and violets in leafy houses 

The redolence distill again. 

No secret lost, no hue, no scent forgotten, 

The Spring asserts her ancient powers. 

Forests that seemed decayed, and dead, and rotten. 

Are changed once more to shady bowers. 

Fields, by the winter clad in snow, she dresses 

In living green or golden grain, 

Nature, so dormant, through her skill possesses 

Her ev'ry charm and grace again. 



Comes with the Spring the thought no years can banish 

Of those far days of lordly strife, 

Visions appear which seem to fade and vanish 

Amid the stir and whirl of life, 

Mem'ry resumes her sway and Love her sceptre. 

But gone the bitterness and pain, — 

Prizing the glory which defeat has left her 

The Southland lives her past again. 

Backward, resistless, come the mem'ries trooping, 

Of Jackson, Stuart, Hampton, Lee, 

Mem'ries of men who took this banner drooping 

And gave it forth to breezes free, 

Mem'ries of women, gentle, brave and tender 

Fair ministers to want and pain — 

Long be the day before our hearts surrender 

The right to dream this dream again ! 

Spring now h^r roses finds on branches perished 

With winter's stern relentless chill, 

We, too, in our heroic past and cherished. 

Shall find the flowers of glory still. 

Dead tho' they sleep, yet must our hearts be loyal. 

Whilst honour, love and truth remain, 

Faithful to those, whose deeds so fair and royal 

Remembrance wakes to life again ! 

Cold is the heart that beats not truer, faster 

Beside this consecrated dust. 

Valour is valour though it meet disaster. 

And lost! no cause will seem less just. 

Green be their graves and honoured still their story. 

And free their names from ev'ry stain, 

These men who died, but whose unfading glory 

Will light the people's path again. 

Ring out and softly ring a requiem splendid 

For all who sleep and wore the grey. 

Bring here the wreaths with love and honour blended, 

For none are worthier love than they — 

Mem'ry returns and tears the veil asunder, 

The living comrade meets the slain ! 

Almost it seems we hear the cannon thunder 

And are Confederates again ! 



DEO VINDICE. 



Dedication of the Monument of the Otey Battery. 



Ring out, ye Bugles, loud and clear! 
We muster on this knoll. 
And let each comrade answer "Here!" 
As Honour calls the roll. 

Between us and the days of strife 
Stretch many years afar — 
The battles we have fought in life 
Out-number those of war! 

But still the mem'ry of those days 
Defies the fretting years, 
And still the fancy backward strays, 
With mingled smiles and tears. 

Thro' varied scenes her pathway runs, 
But brings us all at last, 
To where we see our flashing guns, 
And hear the bugle's blast ! 

And as we gaze with eager eyes 
Thro' mists of long ago. 
Familiar forms before us rise, 
And faces which we know. 

And, when from out the distance dim, 
The breeze is blowing clear, 
We — like a strain of childhood's hymn- 
Remembered voices hear. 

O, Comrades ! hark the bugle's sound — 
Tho' fast the years have sped ; 
To-day, on Mem'rys neutral ground, 
The living meet the dead. 

Let Glory sound the reveille. 
And then the dead will wake ; 
So shall our ranks unbroken be, 
As here our camp we make. 



O ! Comrades from the farther shore, 
Was yours the sadder fate. 
Who fell before the fight was o'er, 
Whilst Vict'ry held the gate? 

Who fell whilst yet the voice of Fame 
Was ringing in your ears ; 
Who never saw your country's shame, 
Nor mourned her cause with tears. 

For you the vision never paled, 
The flag was never furled ; 
Ye fell,' whilst yet its stars prevailed 
To keep at bay the world. 

To-day, that banner only waves 
Where falls the silent dew, 
To bless the flow'rs and grass of graves 
Which hide the brave and true. 

We lived to see how vain the trust. 
How vain the strife and toil — 
For that alone which holds your dust 
Remains Confederate soil. 

We saw our armies forced to yield, 
Our visions fade away — 
But ye who fell on Honour's field 
Still wear Confederate grey. 

This stone shall now our Mizpah be. 
This spot our rallying place. 
Where they who fought for liberty 
Shall meet them face to face. 

This shaft on which we carve no name 
Shall guide Virginia's youth — 
A sign-post on the road to Fame. 
To Honour and to Truth. 

A silent sentry, it shall stand 
To guard, thro' coming time, 
Their graves who died for native land 
And duty most sublime. 



O ! Comrades of the days of yore, 
If courage still inspire 
Like that which would not quail before 
The Crater's murd'rous fire. 

These mem'ries of the time afar 
Shall teach us how to wield 
Our weapons in the sterner war, 
On life's great battle-field. 

The shaft, with which the hands of love 
Now mark this sacred sod, 
Shall point to clearing skies above 
And bid us hope in God. 

Shall bid us seek life's nobler gain. 
Until our spirits feel 
The motto was not writ in vain 
On our Confederate Seal. 



DEDICATION OF THE MONUMENT TO THE CON- 
FEDERATE DEAD AT PORTSMOUTH, VA. 



Where rolls the Nile its turbid stream 
And makes the valley laugh with corn, 

Where kingdoms pass, as though in dream, 
Which waxed and waned ere Greece was born 

There stand, to-day, unworn by years, 
Which learn the languor of the clime, 

The stones inwrought with blood and tears 
That tyrants raised to challenge time! 

And man still sees with blush of shame 

On obelisk and pyramid 
Inscribed a crowned monster's name 

And all th' unmanly deeds he did! 

19 



The tale of woe, of crime, of lust 
Which Nemesis will not erase. 

We read it still, tho' there be dust 
On ev'ry sculptured Pharoah's face! 



This stone which loving hands upraise 

Its story tells of blood and tears, 
But none shall blush who come to gaze — 

Tho' here it stand a thousand years! 

'Twas freeman's blood — not that of slaves — 
In freedom's cause most freely shed. 

And tears which fell on many graves 

From hearts that would not grudge the dead. 

And Glory here shall speak the name 
Of men unnamed in History's page. 

And claim for them a share of fame 
In ev'ry great heroic age ! 

They came from valley, mount and glen 
From where the ocean billows foam, 

A nation's strong, intrepid men, 

From cottage, hut and stately home. 

One serried band — Manassas' plain 

With vict'ry wreathes the flag they bear, 

They charge and charge, and charge again 
And only know that Stonewall's there! 

O bold and dauntless Southern host 
Who dared to march at Jackson's side, 

Is this your country's proudest boast — 
Or that ye marched when Jackson died! 

O men whose sabres kept the land, 

Who answered Ashby's ringing cheer. 

Who rode with knighth^ Stuart's band 
And onlv asked if foes were near! 



O cannoneers, who steadfast stood 

By Pelham with the laughing eye, 
Who though your guns were drenched with blood, 

Ne'er failed to give the foe reply! 

O, seamen staunch, and brave, and true, 
Who manned our Southern ships and sailed 

Beneath the starry cross of blue, 
And fought as long as hope availed ! 

O men who followed stately Lee, 

Nor faltered when disaster came. 
The deeds ye wrought shall surely be 

Inscribed on lofty gates of Fame ! 

As long as Glory lifts her head, 

And truth within her bosom springs, 

She'll deem our dear Confederate dead 
More worth than all of Egypt's kings! 

O, city by the sounding sea. 

Be thine the ever sacred trust, 
To guard their name from slander free, 

And teach the world their cause was just I 



UNVEILING OF THE MONUMENT TO THE CON- 
FEDERATE DEAD OF GLOUCESTER. 



September 18, 1889. 



A stone from the spot where a hero fell,* 

In the midst of the April bloom, 
Come take it, O Sculptor, and make it tell 

Of the men who encountered doom, 
Unheeding the shriek of the shot and shell, 

Unheeding the tomb ! 

Aye, give it a voice — like herald of yore — 

(An echo that lingers and stays!) 
To speak of the Jove and the faith they bore. 

As they fought in the grand old days. 
And charged 'mid the clamour, and smoke and roar. 

Unmindful of praise ! 

Then make it as Memnon — let music flow 

In the glow of the Southern sun. 
In strains which are tender, and soft and low, 

As they tell how the deeds were done 
By the men of our blood, 'till the world shall know 

The glory they won! 

Emblazon the names of the true and tried. 

Engrave them with care in stone! 
Our children must feel that the dead have died 

For a cause that we deemed our own. 
And blush not for men we have marched beside 

In days that are flown ! 

On fields that are sacred to fame they fell, 

Let them sleep in a soldier's grave. 
By mountain and valley and lonely dell, 

In the plain, by the ocean wave — 
The stone that we garland with flowers shall tell 

Our love for the brave ! 



Then shield it forever from time's decay, 

Let it shine as a beacon light 
And point to the fame of the men in grey 

Who surrendered their lives for Right. 
The bravest shall pause, as they pass this Avay, 

And thrill at the sight ! 

Virginia may call as she called of old. 

But she never shall call in vain, 
Whilst Gloucester has sons who are true and bold, 

Who have learned from her glorious slain, 
That duty is dearer by far than gold, 

And honor than gain ! 

Gen-1. A. P. Hill. 



(J 



^\ 



FATHER RYAN. 



There was never a voice to utter 
The grief and the pain of the land. 
Till his music awoke responsive 
To the tender touch of his hand. 

She bowed in her desolate silence, 
And mourned by the graves of her dead ; 
And she longed for the consolation 
That comes when the tears are shed. 

Till his strains, as they fell, awakened 
In the soul that bent o'er the sod. 
New faith in the gracious designings ; 
In the hidden purpose of God. 

He'd learned, as he knelt at his altars, 
To trust in Omnipotent Love ; 
And his song had an inspiration 
Which echoed to music above. 

He took all our idle complainings, 
And lo ! in their stead, in one mouth, 
His song as a low supplication, 
Welled up from the heart of the South. 



His strains, full of pathos and glory, 
And heard of a listening world. 
Entwined, as a wreath of immortelles, 
The flag that we wearily furled. 

There is never a grave so humble, 
In all of the desolate land. 
But his verse has inscribed upon it 
An epitaph stately and grand. 



Once more — by the beds of the dying, 
In the homes of the pestilent West — 
His song, like a low miserere. 
Goes up from his pitying breast ! 

A wail for the woe of his people, 

A plea that God's mercy would spare. 

And we take up its lowly burden. 

And change all our murmurs to prayer. 

Ah ! the South is stricken and anguished 
But never a heart can forget 
The solace his music has brought us — 
And its echo lingereth yet! 



zA 



j.\ JAMES BARRON HOPE. 



O Troubadour, whose hand with equal skill 
Could wield a warrior's sword amidst the fray. 

Or sweep the slumb'ring^ chords of music till 
All hearts were willing captives to its sway. 

O knig-htly soul, gentle because so strong 

O kindly heart, tender because so brave. 
How shall we miss the solace of thy song. 

Where find the strength which thy mere presence gave? 

Honour and Love, these words were written large 
On thy life's page so spotless white and pure — 

Thy name like some well freighted treasure barge 
In memory's haven anchors now secure. 

Like those of whom the olden Scriptures tell, 
Who faltered not but went on dang'rous quest 

For one cool draught of water from the well 

With which to cheer their exiled monarch's breast, 

So thou to add one single laurel more 

To our great chieftain's fame — heedless of pain. 

Didst gather up thy failing strength and pour 
Forth all thy soul in one last glorious strain. 

And when the many pilgrims come to gaze 
Upon the sculptured form of mighty Lee, 

They'll not forget the bard who sang his praise 
With dying breath but deathless melody. 

For on the statue which a country rears, 
Tho' graven by no hand, we'll surely see. 

E'en tho' it be thro' blinding mists of tears. 
Thv name forever linked with that of Lee! 



JOHN R. THOMPSON. 



[On the present.ation of a portrait to the University of Virginia.] 



Lo! through the purple mists that veil the further shore, 
As through a cloud the light of some familiar star, 
There comes the dear remembered face, 
So full of mingled strength and grace — 
The troubadour who sang Virginia's songs of yore, 
And gave one clarion note above the din of war 

Too frail of frame to wield the warrior's flashing blade, 
He could not share the tented field or soldier's dream, 
But strong of soul, heroic heart, 
He came, to tal<e the minstrel's part. 
And stirred the pulse of men until his music made 
The path of duty sweet, and danger winsome seem. 

He wreathed in tender verse his garlands round the brow 
Of those who fell with glory's smile athwart the face, 
As when he laid with loving tear 
His laurel spray on Stuart's bier — 
The singer by the knight, they sleep together now 

Where breaks the river through the rocks — a holy place! 

He knew the kindly art of touching hidden springs 
In human hearts, and saw the good in friend and foe. 
He made us pass the gates of war, 
And showed the vision fair tho' far, 
Of home again, and friends, of peace with healing wings, 
Of all that stays and cheers when strife and hatred go. 

His pen like some enchanted wand imloosed the chain 
That bound our thoughts, forgot awhile were camp and 
fight. 
A trustful guide he led along 
The sweet and pleasant lanes of song. 
And o'er romance's wide and wond'rous fair domain 

And where the breezes blow from great Parnassus height. 



A man of many books, his friends the goodly band 
Of whom the thoughts and words enrich our English 
tongue. 
For Chaucer's haunts he knew, the field 
Where Sydney fell with stainless shield. 
And oft he followed Spencer through his fairy land, 

Or roamed with Shakespeare all the Avon groves among. 

His ear was skilled to Milton's music, vast, sublime ; 
The polished shafts of Dryden, Pope's too honeyed line — 
He knew them well, but still his heart 
Had room for humbler sons of art, 
And ever loved to hear the sweet melodious rhyme 
Of those on whom no golden rays of glory shine. 

He shared the genial mirth of Addison and Steele, 

And loved of Goldsmith's muse the pure and limpid stream ; 
He found among them all a place. 
Nor feared the frown on Johnson's face ; 
His many-sided nature taught him how to feel 

At home with those who laugh, and those who think and 
dream. 

He knew the heart and lays of Scotia's peasant bard 

Whom Genius proudly claimed as kinsman, yea, as peer. 
The wooded lakes where Wordsworth dreamed 
And Coleridge thought — they almost seemed 
Familiar spots to one who could not find it hard 

To love the homes of song, but ever deemed them dear. 

He followed Byron through the sacred ways of Greece, 
And caught th' etherial note of Shelley's mystic strain ; 
He heard the prince's bugle blast 
That waked the great historic past, 
And brought to slumb'ring knights and ladies fair release. 
And made them live and love, and act their parts again. 

With these immortal dead he ever loved to roam 

The twilight fields of thought — and, fortune's happy choice! 
In life he knew, and called him friend 
Who taught the critic's page to blend 
His smiles with tears ; he shared the laureled hermit's home, 
And learned the poet's music through the poet's voice. 



He knew Virginia's Poe, the Christopher of song, 

Who sailed o'er rhythmic seas to men before unknown, 
And heard such strains and visions saw 
As filled the heart with sweetest awe. 
His soul the battlefield of warring right and wrong; 
The world its failures marked, its triumphs God alone ! 

Our poet's mind enriched by fellowship with these, 

He took the gifts God gave, the garnered fruits of lore. 
And serving art alone, not self, 
Unheeding glory, fame or pelf, 
He only sought his loved Virginia's heart to please 

With strains that linger though the singer sing no more. 

O, Alma Mater! many sons have learned of thee, 

And brought their after laurels back thy brows to grace. 
On fields of our heroic strife. 
In all the lofty ways of life. 
They played a worthy part, and dear their names shall be- 
O give th}^ minstrel son a warm and tender place ! 

He loved thee well, and sang with open heart thy praise. 
Who taught him wisdom, truth and fair exalted dreams ; 
His each melodious verse, like Poe's, 
Is pure as blush on summer's rose. 
Or maiden's cheek; the southern wind that idly plays 
With fragile branch and lily bloom no gentler seems. 

His mirrored self we place on yonder classic wall, 
(Ah me! the form we knew so long ago, so long!) 
His eyes shall light the sacred fire 
In other hearts, shall wake desire 
As pure as dream of Holy Grail, desire of all 

The minstrel taught when life vibrated forth in song. 



JOHN RANDOLPH TUCKER. 



At the Dedication of the Memorial Hall, Washiii<,'toii and Lee University. 



I. 

Two lustrous names which linked together seem 

As priceless jewels linked by virgin gold, 
Two stars that blend in one transcendent gleam 

To deck the firmament of fame, and hold 
The torch to light the path which they must tread 

Who would unveiled the face of glory see, 
For high we find on scrolls of noblest dead 

Virginia's sons, her Washington and Lee. 

The academic halls, which classic make 

This valley hemmed by mountain ranges high, 
Fulfill the quiet dreams of one who brake 

The tyrant's power and hailed in freedom's sky 
A nation's natal sign, as pure as bright, 

Who midst the stir of war and toils of state 
Did pause to care for learning's sacred light. 

The hero whom the world has christened "Great." 

Here came a kindred soul, in after years ; 

His country's sun had set behind the cloud, 
His country's hopes were shrined in patriot's tears. 

His country's cause was wrapped in glory's shroud- 
But nobler thus, he lived to show the world 

That human virtue seems, at least, the mate 
Of human chance, that though his flag were furled 

Its honor would outvie the stress of fate. 

On guard they stand, at learning's mystic door. 

Twin sentinels, to ask the countersign 
Of all who seek to cross the threshold o'er 

And enter where is truth's eternal shrine. 
Tho' rich the gifts the numbered years have brought 

To your collesfiate home — surpassing dear 
Are these imperial mem'ries interwrought 

With ev'rv stone of ev'rv structure here. 



II. 

O Mother loved ! thy many sons, 

In whom the blood of freedom rmis, 

Have wandered far and wide; 

But still they turn their thoughts to thee 

And still their home, where'er they be, 

Is near thy side — 

Here where the mountains, one by one. 

Keep kindly watch o'er Lexington ! 

From North, from South, from East, from West, 

The children nurtured at th}^ breast 

Return their love to tell, 

And give to thee with willing heart 

This stately hall the sculptor's art 

Has builded well — 

Here where the moon, the stars and sun 

Look kindly down on Lexington ! 

A school in which th^^ youth may trace 

The source of law, and face tO' face 

With vestal Justice stand, 

And learn to weigh the right and wrong 

In equal scales, for weak and strong, 

In all the land ! 

Here where the mountains, one by one, 

Keep kindly watch o'er Lexington. 

And thou shalt teach with patient care, 

In this thy home — (the very air 

Is surely freedom's breath — ) 

The sons who gather at thy side 

To crave the boon of him who cried 

"Or give me death !" 

Here where the moon, the stars and sun 

Keep watch and ward o'er Lexington, 

O tell thy sons lest they forget 

The tale of how their father's met, 

On what is holy ground ! 

And claimed the right from kingly hands 

To live in Anglo-Saxon lands 

As men unbound, 

O tell it here as freedom's sun 

Looks kindly down on Lexington ! 



III. 

The lordly walls that stand complete at last, 

Builded strong for coming time, 
Are linked with all the imforgotten past, 

Rich in memories sublime. 
We bring today the old traditions here, 

Find for them, O friends, a place, 
For art and wealth have nothing half so dear. 

Half so full of tender grace. 

We bring the cherished thoughts of one whose name 

Honour stoops to carve in stone, 
Of one who knew no avarice of fame 

Seeking principle alone — 
Whoever bowed subservient when he saw 

Truth and equity combine, 
Who felt the splendid majesty of law 

Sovereign by right divine! 

A thinker keen of subtle mind but pure, 

True in thought as true in deed, 
A statesman strong who never bent before 

Passion's gusts, nor altered creed. 
Virginia's child, his heart did seldom roam 

Yond this vale, his native sod. 
The many loves were his, of friends, of home 

Love of country, love of God ! 

His gift, the eloquence of speech that seems 

Souls, as winds the trees, to sway. 
To sweep conviction home, as mountain streams 

All that bars and stops the way. 
In courts, in halls of state he could command 

Mastery of thought and grace. 
Or gain the people when he came to stand 

Man with men and face to face. 

His gift, the gift of humor, mirth and joy, 

Made his life perennial spring; 
The spirit which was his as child, as boy. 

Lingered when his youth took wing. 
He chose the sunny path, in good and ill, 

Striving other paths to bless, 
He would not let the snow his gladness chill. 

Winter make his laughter less. 



His gifts, the gifts of faith, of hope, of love, 

Christ and God were ever near ! 
His spul had seen the visions fair above 

Perfect love had cast out fear. 
His mind had wrestled with the problems deep, 

Whence and why of life and death, 
Yet like a little child he fell on sleep, 

Trusting still with latest breath. 

O Alma Mater! Keep before the youth, 

Who shall seek this school of laws. 
The kindly thought of one who loved the truth, 

Friend of every holy cause ! 
Here, where he brought the fruitage gleaned in life, 

Sharing mind and strength and fame 
With those he trained for service, trained for strife, 

Breathe and gently breathe his name. 



THE BELOVED PHYSICIAN. 



, Fiftieth Anniversary of the practice of Dr. Herbert il. Nash, 
■^ Sureeon, P. B. C. C. V. 



n 



■ Vi 



A century's half of honest toil, 

The record lies where all may read, 

The years so free from stain or soil 
So rich in noble work and deed. 

A century's half not spent for gain, 
But spent in ministries to man, 

Who heals the sick, who soothes the pain, 
Succeeds to work which Christ began. 

No greener laurels grace the brow 
Of soldier, hero, prince or bard 

Than those with which we crown him now, 
Who deemed no path of duty hard. 

No fear of pestilence deterred, 

No dread of sword, of shell or ball, 

He simply Avent where'er was heard 
Of human need and woe the call. 

The crescent years look down to-day. 
On many valiant deeds of love. 

"Well done! O, kindly heart," we say, 
"Well done!" the Christ will say above. 



L.#fC. 



EN DAT VIRGINIA QUINTUM. 

Virginia Day, C'liica"". UK):]. 



En Dat Virginia Quintum ! 

So ran the legend that bore 
The shield of the Old Dominion 

In the distant days of yore. 
And what did she give, O, England, 

What did she give unto thee ! 
A soil that was pure and virgin. 

And rivers mighty and free, 
Which filled all the land with gladness, 

And onward rushed to the sea. 

And skies that were blue and golden 

As those of the isles of Greece ; 
And valleys as green and quiet 

As vales in the realm of peace: 
And forests vast and primeval. 

Which yield all manner of store 
Of woods that are rare and precious. 

And mountains crowded with ore ; 
And waters bringing rich tribute 

Each tide to the shining shore. 

To sons of a race stout-hearted. 

Whom God had meant to be free. 
She gave a home and a welcome 

By th' open gates of the sea. 
A home where the English virtues 

Would bloom more freely and fair 
In soil that was still uncrowded 

In pure and untainted air — 
And Liberty's seed, long dormant. 

Put forth and blossom and bare. 

En Dat Virginia Quintum ! 

What did she give unto thee. 
O thou, the fairest of nations, 

The land of the brave and free ! 
A mother tender, unsparing. 

To children nursed at her breast 
She gave as a goodly portion 

Her wnde domain in the West. 
And whether t'were blood or treasure 

She ever gave of her best. 



Her heart was the first to worship 

The Christ as Lord of the land, 
And first she shook from her shoulder 

The touch of a monarch's hand ; 
Her voice was the first to utter 

A cry in Liberty's cause, 
And claim for the sovereign people 

A share in framing- the laws. 
And first to speak without trembling 

Or fear of the Lion's paws. 

En Dat Virginia Quintum ! 

What did she give at the last, 
When Freedom's bugle had sounded 

And the fateful die was cast ! 
The burning words of her Henry 

Which called to the people's lieart 
And shattered the old illusions 

And tore all the veils apart. 
Which pierced thro' the joints of tyrants 

And smote with a rankling dart. 

She claimed thro' the voice of Mason 

A people's right to be free. 
And sounded Liberty's prelude 

In silv'ry tones through her Lee ; 
She lent to the field and council 

Her best and her foremost men ; 
She drew her sword — and her scabbard 

She cast it aside — and then 
She wrote thy name among nations 

With Jefiferson's matchless pen! 

En Dat Virginia Quintum ! 

She gave to thee and the world. 
When the battle fire was kindled 

And the new born flag unfurled. 
The man of all men whom glory 

Has crowned with the name of Great, 
Who tore the fruits of victory 

From th' unwilling arms of Fate. 
And brought through the storm and tempest 

Our glorious Ship of State ! 



She gave thee honor and greatness 

And wrote thy illustrious name, 
With lofty deeds of her children, 

On the title page of Fame! 
And like the wind in its swiftness 

She'll freely come to thy call, 
Wherever the fight is fiercest 

Or the arrows thickest fall. 
She'll bring to thy aid and succor 

Her wealth, her blood and her all. 

En Dat Virginia Quintum ! 

She has no blush for the past. 
She's marked the beacon of duty 

And comes into port at last ! 
She brings to the mart of nations 

Her treasure of mine and field. 
But poorer she'd be if ever 

She stoop to barter or yield 
One jot or tittle of glory, 

One ray from her spotless shield. 



